Consultation
by Joon
Summary: Crowley is called on to do a favor. Crossover with Mike Carey's Felix Castor novels.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Consultation

Author: Joon

Rating: R for language

Spoilers: Mild spoilers for "The Devil You Know" by Mike Carey and "Good Omens" by Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett.

Timeline: pre-events of "Good Omens" and "The Devil You Know."

Disclaimer: Crowley belongs to Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett. Felix Castor, Rafi and this particular version of Asmodeus belong to Mike Carey. I'm just borrowing them to write something that's been on my mind.

Summary: Crowley is called on to do a favor.

Author's Notes: For those of you who haven't already, run out and get yourself a copy of Mike Carey's "The Devil You Know." Carey of the Lucifer and Constantine fame has written a lovely book about occults, demons and ghosts and the guy caught in the middle of it all. I'm still in the dark about Felix and Rafi's complete history, but from what I do know, this little short story was born.

Part One of Two

Crowley wasn't in the habit of giving out his number to very many people. He'd tried to establish some sort of mobile phone system between himself and his Hellish superiors, but they'd seem more content to just use whatever vaguely electronic device he happened to be near. So in truth, Crowley had only voluntarily given his number over to two persons and seeing as that he'd just parted with Aziraphale after their lunch at the Ritz, the one ringing him at this very moment could only be Felix Castor.

"Does your little Exorcists Union ever frown upon you just ringing me on a mobile instead of doing a candles and incense summoning, Castor?" asked Crowley as a way of answering.

"Crowley….is that you?" Crowley could hear the scratchy quality of Castor's voice as if the exorcist hadn't slept all night or had been screaming all night. Possibly both.

"You're the one calling me."

"I need to talk to you. It's very important. Can we meet?"

There was now definitely a shade of desperation that was creeping in on the earlier rasping quality. While Crowley hadn't seen him in the last year or so, the demon knew it took a lot to frighten someone like Castor.

The demon mulled over his plans for the day. He had a face to TV screen meeting with his boss later in the afternoon that he absolutely couldn't be late for. But he supposed he could spare a couple of hours.

"Where are you?"

The first time Crowley met Felix Castor, the latter had been dangerously close to falling off his seat in a drunken stupor. The demon had observed the University student out with his mates, having a drink or ten. No doubt later he'd stumble back, throw up, fall asleep and not necessarily in that order. All in all, Crowley hadn't thought Castor looked like much of an exorcist. But appearances had proved to be deceiving.

Crowley had nothing personal against exorcists. In fact, he'd looked upon them as useful dog catchers of a sort for any stray demons who'd managed to scurry up to Earth without proper authorization. But against any demon who was completely sanctioned to be on Earth, they didn't stand a chance. More than once Crowley had been in close proximity to a supposedly well-seasoned exorcist who hadn't even been able to register that Crowley was a demon, let alone the first demon to set foot on Earth.

So it had surprised him a great deal when a drunken Felix Castor, a mere student, had attempted a rather sloppy exorcism upon seeing him. Even if Castor had not had the disadvantage of having had six shots of tequila or having just vomited his dinner before spotting Crowley in the alley behind the bar where the aforementioned vomiting had taken place, the incantation still would have done him little good. The words had barely made Crowley twitch as he observed Castor with a newly perked interest. So after calming Castor down and cleaning him up with a waved hand, Crowley had offered to get him a coffee. That had been six years ago. Seeing Castor now, waiting for him outside a rundown deli, it looked like the exorcist had aged about 15 years.

The hunched figure straightened a little in anticipation when he saw the Bentley approach the sidewalk. A window rolled down and a pale face sporting the all too familiar sunglasses peered out.

"You look bloody awful, Castor," commented Crowley. There was no usual pithy reply while Castor rounded the other side and got in the car. Closer up, Crowley got a better look at him and saw the other man's eyes were bloodshot, his hair a tangled mess. The clothes he wore were wrinkled beyond the help of any iron. "Fun night?"

"No," Castor finally replied. "Crowley, I need your help. I think...I think I really fucked up. Really, really badly." The man sounded nearly close to tears and Crowley suddenly felt rather uncomfortable at the uncharacteristic show of emotion. Especially considering it looked like Castor was looking for comfort from him. "A friend of mine…I need you to look at him. He's been possessed by something."

Dark eyebrows rose on Crowley's face from behind the shades. "You couldn't pull it out with a tune on that whistle of yours?"

A pained look crossed Castor's face. "I tried. But it's not a spirit. I thought it was but it's something else. Some kind of demon. Something big."

Castor's hand was now clenching the hem of his trench coat, adding another set of wrinkles to match the ones already on it. He was also noticeably trembling.

"How'd this something big demon get in your friend, anyway?" the demon asked.

"Rafi was doing an incantation and it went wrong."

"Why was he doing one in the first place?"

"I'm not sure." Castor rubbed his tired face with a hand. "I'd talked to him about a week ago. He'd been talking about big plans. Something about gaining powers by calling up a spirit to join with his corporeal body."

Crowley snorted derisively. "And it went wrong, did it?" Shaking his head, the demon ordered the Bentley to drive forward. Humans were remarkably arrogant. Not that Crowley looked upon that as a bad thing for him. It made his job a lot easier, actually. But once in awhile even he had to marvel at the depths of stupidity they sank to thanks to their unwavering idea that they were masters of their own fate. "So you want me to help you sort out your achingly stupid friend? Is that it?" he asked.

Giving his face one last rub, Castor fixed Crowley with a morose stare. There was naked begging in the pale eyes, but an ironic twisted smile graced the exorcist's lips. "I know it's a bit unusual."

"Unusual is one word for it."

"Look, yeah, it's unorthodox. Considering my line of work."

"_My _line of work, Castor. In case it slipped your mind, I'm here to bring about misery to your lot. Not clean up a mess made by some ponce who was too thick to understand that allowing a demon to take over his body falls under the Bad Idea List."

"It's not like he was thick about it, Crowley! He didn't know that's what was going to happen!" Castor protested, loyally.

"Oh, he just did a summoning spell not knowing what was going to happen. My mistake. He's not thick at all," sneered Crowley.

"He thought it was going to allow him access to greater powers," Castor grounded out, getting a defiant look that Crowley knew so well.

"You know Castor, if you're trying to convince me to help you, you're doing a rather crap job," Crowley advised, dryly.

The defiant look soon sagged and dissipated. Now Castor just looked plain sad and much to Crowley's dismay, he looked close to crying again.

"Crowley, please. I need your help. If you could just look at Rafi and maybe at least identify what's in him, I can figure out what to do."

The demon continued to drive, his expression unreadable behind the shades. "And what would you do? If I figured out what was inside your friend?" he asked.

"I'd exorcise it out of him, of course," Castor snapped.

"Back to hell."

"Yes, back….to hell," Castor finished, softly, realizing where Crowley was going with his questioning.

"So basically you're asking me to help you betray one of my own. To aide you in casting one of my own brethren back to that place we all work so hard to stay out of."

Defeat licked Castor's features. "Yes, basically."

A grin suddenly split Crowley's features as he shifted gears and the Bentley lurched forward with greater anticipation. "Say no more. Backstabbery happens to be a fun past time for us," he said, cheerily as if betrayal was synonymous with grabbing a pint. "Where to?"

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

-1During their trip toward the less than reputable area of Lond, the exorcist did little other than give periodic directions and sat instead in brooding silence.

He refused to fully considering the insanity of what he was doing. If the situation had been less horrifying or perhaps if it wasn't happening to him, he might have found it amusing in an ironic, Faustian way.

_I'm getting a demon to help me exorcise a demon, _he thought, almost laughing at the absurd lines he was crossing.

But then again, if anyone could inspiring line-crossing, it'd be Crowley.

The first time Castor had seen the demon, he'd been convinced that his exorcist days were at an end before they'd even had a chance to begin. He couldn't believe that after all the years of studying and training, he was about to be annihilated by a demon in an alley behind some pub where his lifeless body would most likely be discovered next to the pool of vomit he'd just created.

But much to his surprise, instead of getting his drunken self demolished, he found himself still sitting on the cold alley floor, still alive and staring up at the black clad figure who was now holding out a steaming cup of what smelled like ordinary coffee.

Putting it mildly, it was not exactly what Castor had expected from a demon.

As time went on, it became apparent to the exorcist that Crowley was far from what one would and normally should expect from a creature of Hell. If Castor allowed, he could almost convince himself that Crowley was just a regular bloke who drank and took the piss like everyone else. But there had been one or two instances during their association with each other to remind him he was talking to the architect of Original Sin. Not some pub friend. If need be, Crowley could be as casually destructive as he could be merciful on large scales. On scales Castor could never hope to even glimpse even if he spent the rest of his life training and studying.

Castor prayed for Rafi's sake that Crowley was in a merciful mood.

Breaking out of his reverie, he saw the Bentley was pulling up next to Rafi's building. A rundown structure that had barely scraped by being labeled as condemned. Before the car had a chance to fully stop, the exorcist was out the door with a hurried, but determined air. He waited impatiently as Crowley got out of the car and pointedly walked with a relaxed pace.

"I put as much of a seal as I could," Castor informed as they climbed the stairs.

"Yeah, I can see that," Crowley replied. Even from the distance they were at, the demon could feel it. Almost like the air was a little heavier further up. By the time they reached the door, the area felt to Crowley the way humid weather would feel to a human: thick and rather unpleasant.

Crowley was led inside and given the treat of seeing a flat in enough disarray to give Aziraphale's shop a run for its money. Books and papers filled with miscellaneous scribbles carpeted the floor. Dishes filled with miscellaneous food scrapes were stacked in various piles around the chairs and tables. Every so often, Crowley caught a cockroach making itself at home on a congealed pool of what looked like week old curry.

"In here." Castor gestured toward an open doorway that looked like could be a bathroom. Or perhaps just a random room where someone decided to shove in a bathtub.

A figure sat hunched in the half-filled tub. Steam rose from the water that was now tinted a light crimson from the blood that was still sluggishly oozing from various cuts. Clothes that were probably rather shabby to begin with now hung in tatters over the thin, heavily scratched body.

Castor quickly stepped past the ring of symbols he had carved into the floor around the tub and knelt beside the edge, which was as near as he dared. "Rafi? Rafi, I'm back," he murmured.

There was a brief pause before Rafi slammed a fist into the side of the porcelain with enough force to move the tub a few centimeters. Water sloshed up and splattered Castor's sleeves. He thought he heard the crunching of bones as Rafi's fingers broke from the force. An indistinct howl rose from Rafi's throat, a raging inhuman bellow that soon gave way to a hoarse scream that sounded more pitifully human. Castor's grip on the tub's rim tightened as Rafi…the real Rafi seemed to register the agony radiating from his mangled hand.

"Fix….Fix…." he rasped. "Help me…please…get it out, get it out, out, out, OUT!" The last shouts reverted back to darker, deeper howl from before. "OUT! OUT! OUT! OUT!" With each shout, whatever was inside Rafi's body slammed his hand on the tub again.

"Rafi, stop!" Castor ordered, uselessly. "I'm here. I'll help you." He hoped he sounded more reassuring than he was feeling. If he could just help Rafi to get a better control over whatever was inside with him. The wards he'd set up were helping somewhat to at least suppress the demon residing in his friend. Without them it was doubtful he would be able to have even the brief flashes of his consciousness.

Castor looked over at Crowley who was circling outside the symbols bordering the tub. With his sunglasses still in place, Castor couldn't read his expression, though he seemed to be gazing at the possessed Rafi with passive interest.

Stopping at the front of the tub, Crowley crouched down to get a better look at Rafi. Even with the wet scraggly strands of dark hair plastered over the pale face, he caught the glittering eyes glancing upward. At seeing the demon, Rafi's mouth stretched out in what looked like a ferocious snarl, teeth bared. He growled, to which Crowley met with a pause before an incredulous and amused smile spread across his face.

"Wow, that's just gotta be dead embarrassing," said Crowley with a smirk. Castor looked over at him unbelievingly at the sardonic comment. Rafi's snarl intensified. "Is this Rafi of yours an exorcist too?" Crowley asked Castor.

"No…no, he just…he likes to try his hand at the occult," Castor replied, slowly.

"HA HA HA HA HA!!!!"

The burst of laughter made Castor flinch while Rafi's emitted an angry howl. Water from the tub rose up and drenched Castor's sleeves again.

"What's so funny?" the exorcist demanded.

Crowley's shoulders shook as he continued to laugh. "Bloody classic! You of all demons being caught by a 2nd rate DABBLER in the occult!"

An ear-splitting roar erupted from Rafi as the demon inside kicked out, nearly upturning the tub all together. There was an audible crack as his foot collided with the porcelain, indicating a shattered leg.

Patience nearly gone from a lack of sleep mixed with worry that whatever was inside Rafi would cause enough damage to kill his friend, Castor did what he later noted as being a rather stupid move. Spinning up from where he crouched, he took a swing at Crowley to shut the demon's chortling. His fist connected with something, but unfortunately it was Crowley's own hand that now wrapped around Castor's fingers with a crushing force that drove Castor back down to his knees.

"Calm down, Castor," advised Crowley, still snickering. He held Castor's fist as if it were a nerf ball. "He's not going to kill your friend."

"Who? Who is it?" Castor demanded, looking rather defiant for someone who was currently being pinned down to the floor.

Smirking, Crowley released the exorcist's hand. "Your friend is the proud owner of an original Prince of Hell - "

"Just tell me who it is!"

"- by the name of Asmodeus."

"Asmodeus?"

"That's what I said. And let me tell you, for a guy who rules over 72 legions of demons to get trapped in the body of some pillock messing about with some crystals, it's…well, it's a whole new level of humiliation is what it. Humiliation for him. Brilliant joke ammo for me."

"How do I get him out of Rafi?" Castor interrupted.

"Didn't you pay attention during all those years at your fancy school?"

"I tried. I tried to use my whistle and -" Castor stopped abruptly before the catch he could feel his throat broke his voice. Swallowing hard, he ignored the curious look Crowley was giving him before finishing evenly, "Whatever I did, didn't work. I think I may have even made things worse."

After a beat, Crowley turned his gaze toward a stained dish towel that was draped over a nearby chair. He tossed it over to Castor who stared back uncomprehendingly.

"I have to get closer to the tub," said Crowley by way of explanation.

"Are you mad? I can't erase the etches. If I do that Asmodeus could completely take over."

"Just smudge out a couple, then," Crowley instructed. Seeing Castor's hesitation, the demon looked annoyed. "I need to get closer and I'd prefer doing it without getting a splitting headache."

"Rafi's already got a broken hand and leg. I don't want to add onto that. You can get close enough with the seals still up."

Crowley rolled his eyes, the irreverence of the gesture a stark contrast to the tenseness of Castor's entire body. "Can? Yes. Will? No."

Gritting his teeth, Castor edged his way to where Crowley stood and scrubbed, effectively blurring out two symbols. Almost immediately, the temperature in the room got hotter. Curls of steam began to rise up from the tub. Rafi sat nearly motionless in the water, but Castor could easily sense the calm before the storm. He turned to tell Crowley to hurry up, but already the demon had stepped onto where the ring of wards had been broken. With his back to Castor, the demon did a swift series of movement with his hand and the air got a lot cooler. Asmodeus, though, only seemed to get angrier.

"Easy, now," chided Crowley at the water and spit the other demon shot his way. Remaining dry, the black-clad demon pushed up the sleeves and rubbed his hands together. "Right, time for a bit of -" Something made Crowley stop. The possessed body let loose a heavy snarl, unaffected by the demon's sudden change in demeanor.

"You ssssnake!" he hissed. "You help this sniveling _soul_?!"

Crowley seemed equally unaffected by Asmodeus' words. Instead he stood still for a long pause. And then suddenly he raised a hand to his face. Even from behind, Castor could see that he was lowering his shades as he stared at Rafi. The possessed body let loose a heavy snarl.

The simple gesture made a shiver run down Castor's spine.

Because such a gesture from Crowley was not a simple one.

Observing Asmodeus with his naked eyes, Crowley gave a low whistle. "Holy Mother Mary of God," he blessed.

The shiver became a bolt of fear.

Replacing his sunglasses, Crowley turned to look at Castor who was still crouched on the floor, lamely holding the dish towel. "You said you tried to bring out Asmodeus?"

"I did. I did but…I didn't know then who was inside," said Castor. In some ways, he realized what was coming. What Crowley was about to confirm. All the same, he felt the proverbial fist draw back, getting ready to punch him in the stomach.

"You thought it was a spirit. So you tried to yank it out and nearly yanked out your friend's spirit instead," Crowley guessed. Castor nodded, his mouth now dry. "Then you're out of luck. You had Asmodeus half in and pulled your friend half out before having to stuff both of them back inside. They're jumbled together now like knotty wire."

"You can untangle it." It was more of a hopeful statement than a question.

"And the knotty wire's been fused together on all sides."

"Crowley -"

"Castor, there's nothing that's going to undo something like that."

"But -"

A roar from the tub interrupted the exorcist.

"TRAITOR!" Asmodeus screamed. "When I tell him what you are doing, you human-loving maggot. He'll send all of Hell's legions upon you!"

"Well, good for me then that you're never going to get out of there to tell anyone who cares," Crowley shot back.

"You're a fool, Crowley," Asmodeus rasped.

"Thank you, pot for pointing out the hue of the black kettle," Crowley snorted. "I'm not the one who's in a permanent game of Twister with a human soul."

Asmodeus' reply was cut off by the sound of Castor retching as the proverbial fist finally hit him hard in the gut.


End file.
